


Boredom

by TAFKAB



Series: Drunken Thranduil Doesn't GAF [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Arrogant Thranduil, Bitter Thranduil, Boredom, Bureaucracy, F/M, IDGAF Thranduil, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Public Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, This Thranduil Is Not A Nice Elf, Thranduil's A+ Governing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:42:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6877024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAFKAB/pseuds/TAFKAB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bored to madness by his seneschal's bureaucratic rambling, Thranduil occupies the time fantasizing about the other elves attending the meeting.  I think maybe this focuses more on Tauriel and less on Galion than some of you will like.  Sorry; my pervy muse betrayed us all.  Better luck next time!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boredom

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [DiggeSchnugge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiggeSchnugge/pseuds/DiggeSchnugge) in the [merryismaytime2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/merryismaytime2016) collection. 



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> For some reason our lovely king gets hard during some kind of meeting and can't get his mind to concentrate on anything besides that matter. 
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> I get super happy if he finds a way to handle the problem during the meeting.  
> Even more happy if someone else notice the matter and has some naughty things going on later .

Thranduil Oropherion had always known what he wanted.

Before, he always had the power, the wealth, the position to claim his desires.

No longer. Not for many years now.

As he sat impatiently in the seat of honor at yet another miserable, interminable, mind-annihilating meeting, he reflected on how bureaucracy was one of the greatest evils of the civilized mind, enabling petty and officious pushers of paper to imprison and torment otherwise autonomous beings, all in the name of cooperation and responsible governance.

His lips drew back in a sneer and he slouched in his chair, well aware he was not behaving acceptably, but so annoyed he did not care. He longed for a cup of wine, and thought of dispatching Galion for a flagon of Dorwinion, but Galion sat rapt, holding a piece of parchment under his fingertips, his quill making tick-marks against the lines of numbered points it held. 

Thranduil himself held such a sheet; upon it he could read words. Item the seventeenth: spiders, infestation thereof.

Spiders. As if anyone present needed to be told of the menace that plagued their wood, or its source, or the invariable return of every nest they killed? As if that menace could be left to the middle of a list of priorities that might be assembled for discussion by the elves of the Greenwood?

His eyes went to his son, who also sat still, captive of this petty farce, his eyes focused politely upon the face of the seneschal. A very faint telltale heaviness hung in his lids, as if he neared reverie. He was lovely, the curve of his ear catching the light, suffused with living blood. 

Thranduil tore his gaze away, aware of a certain warmth beginning to burn low in his belly, and fastened his gaze on Tauriel instead. As ever, she provoked a mixture of complex responses, and he knew she marked his regard when her lips narrowed, her eyes scanning the agenda sheet with studious diligence.

 _Yes_ , he thought, and let his arm stir, moving his hand to rest in his lap. _Be aware, and flush_.

She did, biting her full lip between white teeth. He wondered what she believed he thought: did she guess the truth of his thought? Did she believe herself merely the object of base lust, or think more foolish thoughts of love and romance? 

His wrist lay along his cock and he pressed subtly to shift it, encouraging it to straighten in his breeches, so it might harden further. He let his eyes rove over her, pleased that Legolas was placed in such a way he could not observe Thranduil’s face without turning aside. 

Modest by nature, Tauriel kept her charms effaced, restraining her breasts with a corset meant to reduce and conceal, but he had seen her without her demure armor, and he knew they would fill his palms well, pink nipples stiffening to protrude between his fingers, ripe for pinching. 

His lips curved with faint amusement as her cheeks colored more deeply, and he thought he would like her bent over this very table as others watched, mouths hanging open. He would strip her skirts from her and cut her laces; he would rip the corset and tunic from her back and set her breasts free. They would flatten softly against the fine-grained wood, and she would cry out in protest, but her body would slicken for him nonetheless. 

She would have a fine, tight quim—no easy virtue in her heart; she kept herself pure as she lifted her eyes above her station. _Oh, pretty one, I see where they stray, and as long as you persist in coveting what is mine, I will think of you like this, I will violate you again and again with my eyes, with my mind. You will know, and you will dream of my cock, and you will waken wet and ready._

He imagined her thrust down over the table, squirming as he wet the tip of his cock in her gleaming slickness and teased her, rubbing the tip back and forth over her clit until she gasped and moaned and pleaded for him. He imagined the other elves watching, mouths open, eyes hot. 

His wrist pressed against the ridge of his cock, barely moving, subtle beneath the table. Her ears were flushed now, and he knew she guessed it. She had seen enough as his guard to know what the pressure of his gaze meant. 

He smiled, narrow and mirthless, shifting very slightly to confirm her guess. He imagined he would caress her clit until she was past control, until she writhed and moaned and tried to push back on him. When she was so wet she dripped, mindless with need, he would move his touch from her clit, wet himself with a single thrust inside her quim, then drive into the tight depths of her anus and listen to her disappointed cries as he fucked her without care for her pain. She would not bear the king’s bastard, nor yet the prince’s son. Never. _Never, pretty one. Your ambition will not come to pass._

Perhaps one night, deep in the throes of wine, he would enact this fantasy just to see if she would weep or stand firm. Perhaps, yet he thought not. Let her flush and wonder and dream unsated.

Legolas moved his hand, covering a yawn and distracting his father. Thranduil watched the line of his throat, the elegant motion of his wrist, the slender length of his fingers, strong and clever. He hooded his eyes, darting his gaze toward Galion.

Yes, there was a better target, one who knew the progression well. First Tauriel, then himself, always whenever Thranduil caught himself lusting for his son. Thranduil knew Galion alone had marked his stolen glimpses of Legolas, and that spiced his lust with fear, sharpening it with anger. 

_You are all that stands between me and my folly,_ Thranduil thought, and knew Galion quivered to feel the heat of his eyes. _In the long watches of the night, you are my last and poorest resort._ He stirred again, his thumb traveling alongside his cock with slow, lazy pressure. Galion swallowed, and the agenda crimped between his fingers. 

He did not know how many ages Galion had seen—the elf had served his father before Thranduil’s birth, and dated at least to the time when the Valar called and the Sindar tarried—but he did know his butler’s price: a room of his own and access to all the wine he could drink. Given those things, Galion would serve his king in any way required. 

Thranduil smiled again and shifted, and the seam of his trousers pressed against him quite pleasantly, constricting his balls as he rocked his hips slightly from side to side. 

He did not need to think up humiliations to subject Galion to, pleasant though that might be. It was more pleasant to enact them unplanned. All he needed was to wait, keeping himself hard with slow passes of his thumb, until the seneschal’s drone ran through all the listed items.

Such was the privilege of rule.

None were fool enough to bring up questions or speak of new business. If they had, Thranduil thought he might have ordered them hung in spider silks and left to dangle from the tallest trees.

When the meeting dismissed he remained where he was, restraining his eyes from following Legolas, refusing to let them caress the straightness of his spine, the elegant grace of his feet, the strong columns of his thighs.

Those things were burned so deeply into his brain he had no need. 

Thranduil sat with his thighs well apart and stared at Galion, who alone remained in the room with him, the forgotten parchment half-crumpled under his hand. _Come and suck me._

He might have spoken, or more likely not, but Galion bowed before him nonetheless, crawling on hands and knees beneath the heavy table, and came to serve him.


End file.
